In conflict what is stirred is fear that we might choose the wrong and, living, loving, turn to bitterness through disbelief. The song is hollow in the whisper heard by broken shadows, which, fractured, long for right to cleanse and heal through scars that ache and scream conviction. But which is worse? The sacrifice which lets us know a sacrifice was made? (And yet we leave…) Or, to live within the world the sacrifice would save and, bitter, grieve?